Insomnia
by surfingrosa
Summary: It's May of the fifth year and Sirius Black's got more on his mind than just OWLs. With dread of the upcoming summer keeping him up all night, he decides his time would be better spent in the common room where at least he can get something done. Little does he know he's not the only one with that mindset. Sirius/OC
1. Chapter 1

"You're not eating, Sirius."

James Potter, himself, speaks with half of his meal hanging out of his mouth. If someone were to notice a loss of appetite, it would be this idiot.

"What - you think I'm not working for this figure?" I say, forcing a smile.

"I wouldn't blame you if you were nervous," to my left, Peter inserts a timid input, "I'm losing sleep over the OWLs, myself."

"Yeah, you would be, Peter," James rolls his eyes. He seems cheerful, but after swallowing a mouthful of chicken he looks me in the eye, and I catch a glimmer of concern. "You okay though, mate?"

"'Course," I stab some green beans and stuff them showily into my mouth. Worry isn't an expression that fits James' face; he's easily satisfied, though, and by the time I've swallowed he's returned to making jokes about Snivellus.

Peter's already rejoined the fun too, but the more acute Remus whispers, "You really are okay, right?"

I give him a small smile. "Nothing I can't handle."

He smiles back, sadly, as Remus always does. Remus has got his demons – the very obvious, wolfish type. Mine are probably more obvious, or at least more infamous. But neither James nor Peter have any in sight, and as Remus isn't complaining it's not really my place to start the problem talk. 

* * *

"Do we really have to study?" James groans on our way back to the common room. "I mean, what's passing the OWLs even going to do for us? Muggles get by just fine without them."

"Muggles go to Muggle school," Remus says, "so they can earn Muggle money."

"So then, is it too late to cue into my Muggle side?"

"And clean by hand for the rest of your life?" I laugh loudly, "I'd rather take Filch's job, when he's kicked the bucket."

"You know, that doesn't seem like such a bad gig," James turns towards us while walking up the stairs, which is never an advisable idea on the Hogwarts staircases. "You don't have to pass school – hell, you can even be a Squ-"

"James!" Remus shouts, hitting him on the shoulder. "Watch your step!"

"Oh, shit," wobbling in a circle, James turns and finds Filch stopped two steps above him.

"Fuck me," I tilt my head towards the floor to hide my ear-splitting grin. Next to me, Peter's eyes have nearly popped out of their socket. I lean to him and whisper, "You think he's gonna recover?"

Too shocked to speak, Peter merely shakes his head no. But James pops a smile right on and says, "Sorry sir, nearly ran you right down."

Filch mutters something under his breath and avoids eye contact while hurrying down the stairs.

"Holy shit, James, I thought you were done for," I pat him on the back.

"Could you be any louder, Sirius?" Peter casts a nervous glance over his shoulder, "He could very well still hear us."

"No way the geezer'll do anything though. We've grazed upon his soft spot."

"It's not particularly nice, though, is it?" Remus casts a glance down the steps.

"Worrying about niceties, that's so like you Moony dear," I throw my other arm over Remus, so he and I and James are squished together like three peas in a pod. "That's our Remus. Savior of the weak and defenseless."

"You know what I mean," sheepishly, he wiggles out from underneath my arm. "It's not particularly in good taste is all."

"Has Sirius ever once done something in good taste?" James proposes and excellent question.

"You know, I can't say I have."

"Well there you have it. Dragon Tongue."

"Right you are," the Fat Lady quips while swinging open. James steps in first, while I follow close behind. With James scarfing down his meal, me barely eating and the Remus and Peter tagging along with whatever the hell James and I do we've left the Great Hall pretty early. The room's empty, save a couple of fifth years who're getting a jump on studying.

"What're we up to tonight, boys?" James plops onto the couch, completely disregarding anyone else in the room.

"Absolutely nothing," Remus slides into a nearby armchair. "While you may try getting by without studying, I'd prefer to pass my exams."

"If Remus is studying, I am too," Peter says hurriedly. While half of me's rolling my eyes, I'm kind of glad Remus spoke up. No way Peter would've voiced his opinion by himself, and that kid really does need to study.

"You all are boring," groaning, James turns his attention to me. "So I guess it's just you and me, then?"

"Sounds like a night we can still salvage," I grin back.

From the corner of the room, someone moans, "Boys."

I look over James' shoulder to see a red head of hair. Though her head's still buried in her book, I'm positive Lily Evans is the culprit.

"Feel free to join us if you get the urge, dear!" James grabs my shoulder and heads back towards the portrait. "I'm sure if you're really motivated, you'll manage to find us."

We're both cackling as we exit the common room, so much so we earn a glare from the Fat Lady.

"You've got to give that one up."

"Like hell I will," he looks up, panting slightly. "God, what are we supposed to do now?"

"Hell if I know," I shake my head, "you left the cloak in the dormitories, after all."

James groans, spinning dramatically in distress. "What are we supposed to do then?"

"I'm sure we'll find something."

The hint of mischief sparks something in James' brain, so he ceases pacing and grins at me with a glint of malice.

"Oh we'll find something Padfoot. That much I'm sure of."

I grin back because, though I hold Remus and Peter near and dear to my heart, no one can get in trouble quite like James and I can. It's unlikely we'll make it back to the common room before midnight. And with summer break nearing, that's just the kind of distraction I need.


	2. Chapter 2

As exhausting as an impromptu trip to Honeydukes may seem, as soon as the lights are out and James is snoring I can't manage to doze off. It's May, currently, and though there's about a month of school left the upcoming summer's starting to weigh heavy on my mind. The annoying thing about thinking is, the harder you try to push something from your mind, the more easily it manages to slink back into your thoughts.

And, to top it off, I've just remembered I've got half a Potions paper to finish.

I lay and stew over my life for ten minutes more before making the decision that, as sleep seems to have evaded me yet again, I might as well not make a total waste of the night. Carefully, I push off my covers, throw on a shirt and tip toe out of the room. I close the door to the dormitories as quietly as I can and, despite a shudder of covers, I don't hear any footsteps coming after me.

I check the clock while walking down the steps. It's almost two in the morning. My first surprise is that the fire's still lit – I've always been curious as to whether or not it stays lit at all times. In a school of magic such a thing is undoubtedly possible, after all, and no matter what time the other Marauders and I waltz in the fire's still going. I've already pictured myself nestled up in the comfiest armchair, flames dancing in the backdrop, when I get a second shock – the armchair's already taken. There are two girls left in the common room. One in my year and one a year older, I think.

My entrance seems to have interrupted their conversation, though I've only noticed just now. I give them a slight nod, resigning myself to completing homework on the couch. I plop on the edge furthest from them, pull out my quill and use my book as a makeshift table. I'm trying as hard as I can not to eavesdrop on their conversation which, after I'm immersed in the essay, is a pretty easy task.

* * *

"Hey, sweetheart. Rise and shine."

"Hmm?" I rub my eyes, opening them slowly. I hadn't planned on crashing in the common room. After finishing the essay I'd taken out my Transfiguration book and studied, just for kicks. Guess all that talk of rodents and teacups must've put me to sleep.

When my eyes have adjusted I can make out James leering over me. "You didn't sleep in here, did you?"

"It seems I did."

"What the hell, man?" James looks entirely befuddled. "I didn't dream up Honeydukes, did I?"

"No," I laugh, shaking my head, "you couldn't make that shit up, after all. I remembered I had some homework to do after you'd already gone to sleep. Thought it'd be a waste not to do it."

"You've never thought it a waste before," he moans. By now we're climbing the steps back to the dormitories. Luckily James had woken up and, upon finding my bed empty, went to see where I'd gotten off to. The majority of the house is still asleep, and, though I don't remember them leaving, the two girls I'd bumped into the previous night are already gone.

"Well, if I never do my homework I'll fail entirely. And though I may be able to make it on my looks, divorce rates are on the rise. A modern man's got to be independent."

"Sirius. You are a walking, talking imbecile," he pushes me back in the room, sending me stumbling through the door. I nearly bowl right over poor Moony.

"Christ, Remus, watch where you're walking!" I say. The man knows me well enough to interpret that as an apology. He chuckles quietly while he's exiting. Prefect that he is, he's got morning duties or some other bullshit to take care of.

"Swear to god, Sirius, you're losing it."

Still with sleep in his eyes, Peter turns and says, "What'd he do this time?"

"Crashed in the common room, would you believe it? Says he was studying, to boot."

"We can't all be as smart as you, Potter!"

The day goes on, quite like this, which makes the day easy enough. I've got good friends, so most of the time the bad things in my life get pushed to a dark, quiet corner. But once the whole world becomes one big, dark corner there's no place to squash my problems back into.

Luckily I seem to have found a solution: switch the lights back on. Mindless work is as good a cure for thought as anything, so at two AM the next night I find myself back in the common room.

I'm shocked again to find the same two girls in the same spot, and they look just as surprised to see me. But unlike the previous night, they recover quickly. Almost as soon as they spot me they've returned to their conversation. I take my same place on the couch and open up my Charms book to the very back.

* * *

"Hey. Excuse me. Sirius Black."

I awaken this morning not to James' face looming over me, but one of the girl's. Her name's Nora – Nora Dotum, I think. We've spoken before, but never at any length. I've never been close enough to see that the freckles on her face run down her neck, or that her eyes are a pale, bright hue of blue. I'm too taken aback to speak, but luckily she takes initiative.

"If you don't want to face your friends again, I suggest you head back upstairs now. It's four thirty – they should all still be dead asleep."

"Wow. Uhm, thanks," I'm surprised, and genuinely touched by her foresight. She smiles and nods before turning to dash up the girl's stairs. I immediately get up and head back to the dormitories. I take off my shirt and throw it so it lays where it usually does – which is, to say, haphazardly on the floor - before nestling back underneath my covers.

The mattress feels unusually cold after being empty all night. I curl up to preserve warmth and, dare I say, chance falling back to sleep. I've got a new issue to mull over now, one which is far less distressing than my family problems but almost as intriguing:

What's the deal with Nora Dotum?


	3. Chapter 3

The third time I enter the common room after hours I seem to have lost the element of surprise; neither of the girls bother to even stop their conversation. I've sat down in the same spot for maybe ten minutes when I sense their talk has taken a turn.

"We should invite him over here."

"Nonsense. He's a complete twat."

"No one's a complete twat, Nora, and if he's going to continue hanging out in the common room this late the least we can do is say hello."

"I'm right here, you know," I mumble, mostly into my book. But the two girls cease talking and, when I look up, are staring in my direction.

"Awfully sorry, we don't mean to be rude. We're just used to having the room to ourselves," the older girl – Clara, I believe her name is – says.

"Yeah, sorry," Nora looks a little sheepish.

"Nonsense," I wave my hand. I'm not offended in the least, but I will take this opportunity to start a conversation, "I get called a twat more than you'd think."

"I wouldn't say that so easily, if I were you," Clara widens her already-huge eyes. Though I'd never attempted to speak with her, as she's notoriously off her rocker, I have noticed that she's quite pretty. Slender, though not skinny, with blonde hair that falls like silk around her face, she's the kind of girl I would've banged years ago if it wouldn't put a damper on my reputation.

While Clara's turned more towards me, Nora's faded to the background. She's become immersed in homework, or something – whatever it is, it's more interesting than me.

"I don't mind so much," I reply, "I mean, what can you really do about it?"

"You could always try doing something. People talk poorly of me all the time and I never quite appreciate it."

I feel kind of like I've been kicked in the stomach. I can usually deal with being a horrible person right up until I'm forced to notice I am, in fact, behaving like a jerk. I'd prefer it if Clara didn't point this out for me.

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever spoken to you," I say, keeping my voice light.

"We're in different years, even though we're in the same house," I nod and smile silently while she points out the obvious, "You're Sirius Black."

"That I am."

"I'm Clara," she doesn't catch the tinge of sarcasm in my tone, "and this is Nora."

"I know," I nod some more. She quirks her head.

"Do you really?" genuine surprise fills her voice, "And here I thought myself rather invisible."

I laugh, "Oh no. Hate to burst your bubble, but you're moderately notorious."

"Am I really?" her eyes open impossibly wider. To my surprise, Nora leans away from her armchair and touches Clara's shoulder.

"Clara," her voice is soft, though not too soft that I can't hear her, "he's making fun of you. Just ignore him."

"What?"

"I am not," I say loudly. And I wasn't – I was just stating the truth. "I'd call myself notorious, too, and you think I'd be making fun of myself?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," her eyes are dead serious.

"What?" unconsciously, I've moved a bit further towards her.

"Well you're kind of constantly making fun of everything, aren't you?" she's slides back into her seat, "The world is one big joke to you."

"I can't really argue with you there." I do tend to lack some sense of propriety. Or, probably more accurately, tend to ignore it. "But at least then there's no need for anyone to feel special. It's not like I've ever singled anyone out or anything."

"Sure you haven't," she mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She doesn't say anything back, but she mouths, "Severus Snape."

"That's a special case if there ever were one. I mean, honestly, you don't like that guy, do you?"

"It's not about me liking him," she says slowly, "regardless, you shouldn't treat the kid like you do."

I'm tempted to argue back, but I'm not really in the mood to justify myself to strangers. "Whatever," I exhale.

After a moment of silence, Clara says, "I guess if you didn't mean anything bad by it, I shouldn't be offended."

"Exactly," I snap my finger. "No ill will."

"Sure," Nora murmurs back.

"What're you all doing up so late all the time, though?" I ask, half to change the subject and half out of genuine curiosity. "Do you all never sleep or something?"

"No," Clara says shortly, "at least I don't, anyways."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Never? You never sleep?"

She shakes her head, "No." Her expression isn't shadowed by even a shade of sarcasm.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. My dad found out my mom was cheating, see, and figured that their newborn baby wasn't really theirs at all. So he hexed me. As revenge, or something."

"Your mom whores around and you get the bulk of the punishment?" I say. "No wonder she cheated."

Clara visibly cringes back when I said the word whore. I'd apologize, but I doubt it'd make a difference.

"It wasn't easy for her, either. Imagine a five year old who never gets tired."

"Dear god," I exhale.

"And in the long run, I find it quite enjoyable," she smiles, slightly, "without ever needing to sleep, I've picked up all kinds of hobbies. I'm learning my fourth language at the moment."

"Really?" my eyes fall on the book in her lap – not a textbook, as I'd previously thought, but a beginner's guide to Italian.

"Si, es verdad."

"Huh?"

She smiles. "It's true."

She remains kind of grinning and glowing, and I realize what discouraged me from chasing her, or thinking of her as attractive or anything – because, let's face it, I'd be stoked to nail the super-hot, super-weird chick.

No, what kept me from hitting on her was her air of innocence. Despite being a year older than me, she's got similar expressions and mannerisms to those of a child. It seems like it'd be all too easy to take advantage of her, sexually or otherwise.

Her friend, on the other hand, I've never approached for the opposite reason. Nora's got this invisible but all-too-real wall around herself. Her ice blue eyes are cold, intimidating, and in all our years of school together I can't remember ever really seeing her smile.

"Why're you here?" Clara asks me. "I've never seen you this late before – well, I have, actually, but you typically just sneak in or out with your friends."

My lip twitches up in some self-satisfaction. I lie, though. "Prepping for the OWLs, you know. Can't study with my friends or they'd make fun of me."

"That's bullshit." I glance at Nora – her eyes are fixed on the papers in her lap, but she undoubtedly spoke.

"Excuse me?"

She looks up. "I said, that's bullshit."

"And why, dare I ask, would you say that?"

"Because, while you've opened up your book and everything, you jumped on the opportunity to converse with strangers – and really weird strangers, no less."

I bite my lip. "Touché."

"So?"

She waits for me to respond, rather than pressing the question. The room's silent, save the crackle of fire, and I feel obligated to fill it. "It's getting close to the holidays."

"Ah," she exhales. "Family problems?"

I laugh mirthlessly. "Is there any other type?"

She shakes her head, smirking. "I should've guessed. I doubt you're getting on too well with your folks these days."

"That's an understatement," I growl. "My mum's a fucking nightmare."

"You've got Potter though, haven't you?" she leans forward once more, tucking her papers carefully into the space beside her. "How much time do you have to spend at home?"

"Enough," I press my lips into a tight, stretched smile. "Mark my words, mother dearest'll be on my case before she manages to spit out a hello."

"At least you know she cares. Some base part of her must think she's making you better."

"But not for my sake," casting my eyes towards the ceiling, I exhale slowly. "Mum never gave a damn about kids. Just continuing the bloodline. She doesn't care how we turn out, so long as we're bigoted pricks."

"You beat that, though. That's something to be proud of."

I look at her funnily. "I thought you hated me?"

"No," she shakes her head, now wearing a smile that's got a hint of humor in it. "I just think you're overrated."

"Ouch," I mock wince, clutching my heart, "my poor ego'll never recover."

Next to me, Clara mutters something in Italian.

"I've got a feeling it will."

"Yeah," I grin back, "you're probably right. I'm durable like that."

We make small talk for another few minutes, before the room goes silent entirely. I shimmy back to my old spot on the couch, now comfortable with the quiet, and study my way to at least an hour of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Life continues quite like this into June. I spend days spent with the Marauders, screwing around until the lot goes to sleep. Then the sun sinks behind it's inky curtain and, while sleep evades me, I escape back to the fireplace. I've grown, to my chagrin, kind of comfortable there. For some strange reason, I feel fine telling Clara or Nora things I rarely confess to even James and Remus.

"Why do you think that is?" I asked Nora one night, "I can talk to you all so easily when – no offense or anything – I can't tell shit to my real friends."

She wasn't offended, though I hadn't expected her to be. Nora is, as I'd found out, a realist to the point of cynicism.

"The night makes people honest," she'd replied, "like firewhiskey, it dampens your judgment and heavies your eyes. It's almost not a real world and – when you've woken or sobered up – what you said the night before is all a blur."

Nora's full of gems like that. She says since she spends so much time alone, she's spent plenty of time solving life's least important mysteries.

Neither Nora nor I address our newfound camaraderie. Clara and I nod when we pass each other in the halls, but I think even she knows the bounds of what is and is not socially acceptable for us.

Of course, the rest of the guys were bound to notice this new development.

"Have you always been friendly with that chick?" James asks me one day after we'd done our whole silent greeting bit.

"I wouldn't call it friendly," I grumble, "I was just saying hello."

"You know, I've always thought she's kind of attractive," Remus looks behind us, where her blonde head is bobbing away.

"Really?"

"No way," James argues, "I mean, sure, she's pretty, but there's something totally off about her."

"That's the truth," I chuckle to myself.

Looking at me with sudden incredulity, James asks, "You didn't, like, shag her or anything, did you?"

"What?" I nearly choke on my own spit, "No, no way. She's nuts."

"Alright," James exhales, mock wiping his brow, "just had to be sure."

Six hours later Clara, Nora and myself are involved in a heated debate.

"You're saying you've never listened to Muggle music?" Nora's normally passionless face is currently incredulous.

"I mean, never at any length. My parents would've killed me," I shrug. "What can Muggles produce that we can't, anyways?"

She laughs loudly, though the sound is dry, "Only everything."

"I mean, surely you've heard of Mozart before," Clara offers.

"Or Jimi Hendrix."

"Can't say either are familiar.

"This," Nora exhales, "this is a goddamned travesty."

"I don't get it," I rest my head on my hand, shaking my head. "Wizard music's just as good, isn't it?"

"No," Nora disagrees vehemently, "Wizard music and Muggle music are two completely different ballparks. The Muggle one being the better."

I look her in the eyes. She glares back with uncharacteristic aggression, until she realizes she's staring and tears her eyes away. I smirk to myself - despite her caustic attitude, she's actually quite shy.

"I guess I'll have to try it," I lean back into the couch, pondering mostly to myself.

"It's too bad we don't have records here," Clara gazes around the room, perhaps in the hope she's missed one of these so-called records players. "Then again, summer's not too far away. You can find a music store over the summer."

My stomach drops at the reminder. "I'm sure my parents will be thrilled with that."

Nora rolls her eyes. "It's not like you can't do things out of the house. There are plenty of places for you to listen to music and without bringing it home."

"I know that," I counter, "I'm commenting on the premise itself. Believe me, I'll be spending as much time out of the house as I can."

"I'll second that," Nora mutters.

"What?" I tip my head up eagerly. As of yet, I've heard very little of Nora's home life. Despite the whole single-parent deal, Clara's family is pretty normal. If anything's strange, it's how close she and her mother actually are; how Clara gets on so well with a whore for a mum, I'll never know. But Nora, on the other hand, keeps her lips sealed tight regarding her family matters. "Your mum doesn't serve supper _every_ day of the week?"

"Nope," she utters the syllable in a sigh, tilting her head towards the ceiling, "I haven't got a mum."

The grin quickly slides from my face. "Oh."

"I guess I shouldn't say that," she picks her head up to look at me, smiling grimly. "I have got a mum, after all. But she's dead."

"Oh," I repeat. Words seem to have completely escaped me. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," she's looking at me now, but she's not. Nora's got this habit of looking past someone, or perhaps at their eyebrow or nose, so if you're not paying attention she may fool you into thinking she's making eye contact. After three weeks, I've figured out the difference between when she's looking at me and when she's avoiding doing so. "But, what's a girl gonna do?"

"Can I ask what happened?" I say hesitantly. Her forced smile twitches – next to me, Clara shifts in the armchair.

"Maybe some other time," her voice is straining to retain normalcy, "it's not exactly easy to talk about. One thing leads to another, and personally this isn't something I want to dwell on for the whole night."

"Fair enough," I can't say I'm not disappointed but, were I pressed to dish out my family problems, I'd probably refuse, too. Not for any reason against the person, exactly, but because it's damn hard to talk about.

"So, what exactly is a Mozart?"

* * *

The exams fly by easily – the extra studying helped heaps, though I'd prefer not to admit that. Soon enough we're just days from break. My anxiety is increasing, but I'm spending fewer nights in the common room. With the exams done and summer closing in, the Marauders and I are squeezing every inch out of the days we've got left.

The last time I see Clara and Nora is two days before break. I'm out and about for the entirety of the next two nights, so I never really got the chance to say goodbye. Our conversation did run pretty close to farewell, though.

"I guess I won't be seeing much of you all, after summer," I'd said.

"Well that's the point, isn't it? It's called a break for a reason," Nora deadpanned. She still had all her papers in her lap, even though there wasn't any need to study. I was beginning to suspect she wasn't up to something academic.

"Yeah, but there won't exactly be a reunion next year. Not 'till the end of it, anyways. With a whole year to burn, I doubt I'll often have trouble sleeping."

"Oh," Nora said shortly. Her face was blank, but I could discern a hint of surprise in it.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Clara piped in, "The way we talk here, while we avoid each other the rest of the time. Well, we avoid you, at least." Her voice held no accusation – she was simply stating facts. "Nora and I are friends, easily, but there's not much that could logically tie us to you."

Clara's often too astute for my comfort. "I often wish there was, you know."

Nora had grinned at that, and spoken through clenched teeth, "'You don't have to lie to make us feel better."

"No, I speak the truth," I'd held my hand to my heart, jokingly, but I meant every word - oftentimes the only way for me to really express my affection towards people is to act like I don't give a damn. "While we'd have never spoken in normal circumstances, I actually quite like the two of you."

"I'm nearly flattered," Clara'd said. I remember my head nearly rolled off at the shock of hearing her use sarcasm.

Nora rolled her eyes, but her jaw had slackened some. "Well in that case, if you're ever coming in from a long night of – whatever the hell it is you Marauders do - feel free to stop and say hello."

I've never been great at reading people. But I'll be damned if that hadn't meant, _"I actually like you, too."_


	5. Chapter 5

Once summer starts, I'm getting plenty of sleep. As I've already walked straight into my nightmare, there's nothing really left for me to dread the approach of. Sleep is the only respite I have from my horror show of a family.

The third day of break I'm awoken by a prodding in my side.

"Master. Master Sirius."

I groan, rolling away from the edge of my bed. Even while half-conscious, I'm aware there's only one creature in this house that would refer to me as 'master',

"Do you need something, Kreacher?"

"The Mistress would to speak with you."

"Speak with me, my ass," I roll up, stretching my arms. "The hag probably just couldn't take me having another half hour of peace."

"Immediately, sir."

"Fuck off, why don't you."

By the time I've opened my eyes, Kreacher's already gone. Though no doubt he heard my final comment before leaving – the wretch is probably reporting to my mother at this very moment.

And he left my door hanging open, to boot.

With a yawn, I get up, close my door and lock it. While I'd love to antagonize my mother by sleeping for another two hours, I've got a feeling that as soon as she gets a peek at my new decorations she'll boot me right out of the house. Not that I'd complain.

I wink at one of the girls on the wall. I found some charmed glue upon my last (illegal) visit to Hogsmeade, and picked up a couple Muggle posters on the way home. My wall's now plastered with glossy, still photos of scantily clad women.

After throwing on a shirt and a new pair of pants, I start for the kitchen. I've taken to wearing Muggle clothing as one, it annoys the hell out of my parents and two, it's more convenient in the Muggle world. I've been spending as much time outside the house as I can muster.

"Need something, Mother?" I say as I walk into the kitchen. She's sitting at the head of the table, her head hidden behind a newspaper. She doesn't move when I enter the room.

"Not particularly," she mumbles from the other side of the paper. "I was just thinking that, if you're gonna bother getting up, you should get up at a decent time."

The "_But I wouldn't really mind if you weren't planning on it,_" is implied.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mum," I shrug to myself – I've grown used to these kind of snide jabs. I've yet to do anything to really cause a rift, but Mum knows it's only a matter of time before I'm causing her trouble.

I bark an order at Kreacher to get me an apple. He shoots a pitiful look at my mother who, in return, says, "Don't make the elf do it. You've got legs, haven't you?"

I'm already halfway to the pantry by the time she says that. While I'm pulling out a piece of fruit I hear another set of footsteps.

"Ah, Regulus!" the newspaper crinkles as Mum folds it in half. She's beaming with that false, thin smile of hers. Regulus, for his part, is not particularly impressed by her enthusiasm. He takes a seat across from her.

"You sleep well?" he asks. He's gotten so cold, recently. He wasn't quite like that when we were younger – but he's old enough now, he knows he's got to take sides.

"As well as I ever do. You know your father…"

While they're conversing, I slip back out of the room. I'm not in the mood to stay inside, though nor am I in the mood to comb my hair. While I only became an Animagus for Remus' sake, I won't deny it has its merits. I finish the apple, leaving the core on a table before stepping outside. After ensuring no one's watching, I transform. People are easier to deal with, anyways, when you're a dog.

I saunter down the sidewalk, making my way towards the park. It's hot as hell out here, and my shaggy coat's not helping. At noon on a Tuesday the streets are pretty empty. There're a couple kids playing down the street, an occasional pedestrian, but otherwise no one much in terms crowds.

After walking down a couple blocks I reach the park. Typically there are a couple kids here whose parents are far enough away that they'll dare to play with a stray dog. The park is just a couple blocks in the city, a few walking paths, trees and a playground, but compared to the litter and hot concrete outside it's a practical jungle.

I find a huge, shady willow tree and lounge under that for a few hours. It's slightly boring but, as I've often found in summers past, people watching is an enjoyable pastime. And no one takes a dog's stare as an uncomfortable gesture. Despite the occasional mom trying to shoo me away or kid trying to take me home, I'm left alone. The grass is slightly damp, protected by the shadow of the tree, and between the arguing family to my left and the couple breaking up on the sidewalk I can't choose a conversation to key into. Somewhere between the two I start drifting off.

When I awake, I first notice that some of the heavy heat has lifted –which is the first sign that time has passed, despite my previous confidence that I'd only dozed for ten minutes. My eyes start adjusting to sight again, and I can see the sun has begun to set. The park is now tinged indigo and orange, and most children are nowhere to be seen. Apart from the occasional jogger, the park is empty.

This is, approximately, when I see Nora.

At first I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, or that this girl's a lookalike. Because honestly – what're the chances I'd bump into Nora two blocks away from my house? I stand, stretch out my legs, then waddle forward to get a closer look. My second thought is I'm hallucinating. The girl I see is, without a doubt, Nora, but that seems completely improbable.

My theories and conspiracies all melt away when Nora glances at me. I freeze mid-step. I know, currently, I'm a dog, but some part of me is fearful she'll recognize me. My limbs relax when her lip twitches up. Warily, she stretches her arm out.

It's only when she lightly snaps her fingers together that I realize she's trying to call me.

In an act that will make my life extraordinarily uncomfortable should my talent ever be discovered, I decide to wander over to her. I don't particularly enjoy being pet, sure, but the expression she's wearing reels me 's a glimmer of hope in her eye I'm not used to seeing, though it's shadowed by her usual aura of doubt. She seems unsure, afraid I might decide instead to turn and wander away.

She leaves her hand outstretched while I get closer. She holds it precariously from her body, probably ready to snap back in the event I bite. When we're close I sniff her hand, like any good dog would. I pause for a second, which gives Nora the opportunity to place her hand tentatively on my head. And then she does something completely uncharacteristic.

She smiles.

I've seen her smile before, surely, but this smile is unquestionably different. Because, were I to describe her previous grins, a more appropriate word would be something like smirk. She never really smiled out of joy so much as in some wry, cynic humor of the world. Her face is now honestly and genuinely beaming though, as she leans forwards and whispers, "Hello!"

Something about the way she utters the words makes me very sad. She sounds - dare I say it - lonely.

"Good boy," she whispers again, stroking her hand across my ears. While I've never enjoyed being pet, and I'm not really starting to now, Nora's voice is completely, utterly raw at the moment, and I can't bear to rip anything away from her.

She pets me for about five minutes before, I warrant, she grows tired. She stops with her hand resting on the back of my head. For a while longer we sit beside each other, my side just grazing her leg, while the sun disappears behind the horizon. After the park's gone inky black, only to be lit by lines of streetlamps, she speaks again.

"I've got to go," she ruffles my ears, "I've got some new parents again, and coming home late is no way to set a good impression."

It takes all my effort not to cock my head. As a witch, Nora's undoubtedly intelligent enough to recognize magic from animal intelligence. I'd prefer as few hints that there's a human inside the dog as possible.

"You're a very good dog though," she breaks back into her soothing, baby tone, "very good."

I wag my tail and stick out my tongue in response, because I've got no clue what else to do. It's tough being a dog.

She's satisfied though, and stands to leave. I consider following her out of the park, but should she ever happen to find out I'm an Animagus following her home would be just a touch too creepy. I walk around the park a while longer, trying to discern what exactly just passed. After an hour of drawing blanks I give up, and make the decision to wander back home. Though I do manage to squeeze as much time as possible out of the trip.


	6. Chapter 6

The house is quiet when I reenter. I've transformed back into a human – the last thing my parents need to know is I'm an unregistered Animagus – and try to move silently through the halls. Unfortunately this house is older than my grandmother's grandmother, and since the floorboards groan no matter how softly I tread I give up and just try to get to my room fast.

I make it past my parent's room entirely silently, and have nearly gotten to my room when I hear murmurs.

"You don't think we'll get caught?"

"Does it matter? We've done it now. Worrying whether or not we'll be caught is useless.."

"Still, they're buckling down on this stuff. I don't want to go to Askaban."

"Well you can't whimp out now – you've already bloody done it, haven't you?"

"Still – "

I jiggle the handle and find it unlocked. Regulus, my dear brother, is an idiot. I push the door open and stick my head in. I find Regulus and our good cousin Bellatrix inside, both looking like they've been caught with their pants down.

"Ah," I sigh lightly, "I'm interrupting a family reunion, I see."

"Why don't you go jack off to some Muggle porn, Sirius," Bellatrix sneers. She's quicker to recover than Regulus – probably because she's less afraid of repercussions. She's too far off the deep end to spare any thoughts towards consequence.

"See, I was right in the middle of that, but all this talk kept distracting me. Couldn't get a good hard on."

"Go back to your room, Sirius," Regulus murmurs.

"But then I won't be able to hear you," I mock whine.

"I'll tell Mom about your new decorations."

"Be my guest," I say, "it might give her the heart attack we've all been craving."

I shut the door anyways, mostly because I've lost interest in their conversation. But, also, because I'm dog tired, and if Regulus really does tell Mum I doubt I'll be sleeping for a week.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Mum to discover the posters, though. In fact, I only had to wait 'till the next morning.

"SIRIUS!"

I barely look up from my book towards the shriek. I'm in the living room, which is unoccupied; otherwise I'd have skulked back to my real room. I shout, "Yeah?" back, and get a chorus of stomps in response.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

She walks through the entryway and man, if looks could kill, I'd be dead on the spot. Her eyebrows are stretched three inches above her eyes, and her entire body's stiff with rage. Spittle flies out of her mouth while she screams.

"LIKE YOU WEREN'T ENOUGH A DISAPPOINTMENT ALREADY – MIND YOU, WE ARE ALL AWARE OF ALL YOUR LESS-THAN SATISFACTORY QUALITIES WITHOUT YOU HAVING TO REMIND US – YOU HAD TO FLAUNT YOUR FILTHY BELIEFS, TOO? BRINGING MUGGLE THINGS INTO THIS HOUSEHOLD, JUST TO GET UNDER MY SKIN, WELL IT'S WORKED – LOOK AT ME WHILE I'M TALKING TO YOU!"

I glance away from my book away. I'm slightly shriveling inside, but I have way too much fun antagonizing my family to let a little anxiety stop me.

"Sorry, I just got to the good part. Could we put this off a couple minutes more? I swear I'm almost through."

This spurs another yelling fit, which, at this point, I'm used to tuning out. I pretend to read until, finally, I sense the room's gone quiet.

"You're not even listening, are you?"

"'Course I am, Mum" I stare at the letters on the page, "I've got bad friends, bad opinions, bad attitudes – all in all, I'm a big letdown. But at least there's Regalus," I look up, "that cover it?"

In an uncharacteristic gesture of resignation, Mum sighs.

"Honestly, at this point I think pulling you out of that school would be the only thing to set you straight."

"WHAT?" I leap out of the chair. The book slips from my fingers and falls, with a clunk, to the floor. "Are you insane?"

"You don't care about your family's opinions, that much is clear. That school's planted ideas in your head - heaven knows I had qualms sending you there from the start. I'll talk to your father about sending you to Durmstrang tonight. I should have done so before Hogwarts ever got its hands on you."

She turns, walking back towards the kitchen.

"You can't," my voice is pleading, while I chase my mother out of the room. "I've only got two years of school left, anyways. I'd never adjust."

"You should've thought of that earlier."

"I'll fall behind in my classes, have no friends-"

"Is that my problem?"

"YOU'RE COMPLETELY MAD!" finally, I resort to yelling, "YOU'RE A DAFT, BIGOTED BITCH WHO CAN'T CAN'T STAND FOR ANYONE ELSE TO BE HAPPY, AND YOU'RE GOING TO BE BITTER AND ALONE 'TILL YOU'RE SIX FEET UNDER."

"Enough, Sirius," she turns sharply, so I nearly topple over her. "This decision is final."

"Well, fuck you then," I hold back the urge to slap her. I storm away instead; the hall passes in an angry blur until I've made it out the door. It's cloudy out. The air's heavy with rain and I've got no clue where I'm going to go. I just need to get out of that house.

I walk down the street, taking the opposite path I did yesterday. Throughout the trip I deliberately choose to turn down streets I usually don't turn down, so eventually I find myself in a part of town I've never seen. I'm perusing Muggle shops, considering the notion I may be completely, utterly lost, when I glance a record store. My mind flicks back to a memory of Clara and Nora swearing on Muggle music. My parents would freak out if I brought home records. So, naturally, I jaywalk across the street and pull the store door open. A bell jingles while the door's swinging, but I can barely hear it above the music.

The place is painted beige, but the posters plastered overtop combat the mundane color. There are rows upon rows of what I'm assuming are records. About six or seven other people are browsing through; unsure of what to do, I take heed from the closest woman and start pushing through music. Unfortunately, I've got no clue what I'm looking for.

"You lost?"

I spin around, stumbling to form an excuse as to why I'm in the store, when I meet eyes with Nora. She's smirking, looking particularly smug, and I can guess she's satisfied knowing she's the one who led me here.

"No, actually," I cross my arms, "I decided to come here all by myself."

Which is not entirely a lie.

"Really?" she cocks an eyebrow, "What, you trying to impress some Muggle girl?"

"Piss off my parents, actually."

"Well you're in luck. That's pretty much why rock was invented," she casts a glance at the records in front of us, "though, if you're trying to aggravate your parents, Jazz probably isn't you're best choice."

I look back at the music – I was grazing through a section titled "Bebop".

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" I murmur.

"It means they'll love it – if your parents are anything like mine, at least."

"I doubt that," I grumble.

Her lip twitches nearly into a smile. "Come on. I'll show you where the real noise is."

She leads me to a different row of music, this one much longer than the last. She attempts helping me find what I'm looking for, talking me through genres and styles, but it's hard when I have no particular experience with Muggle music.

"Just get Led Zeppelin then," she sighs, resigned, "it's obnoxious enough to frustrate your parents, and good enough to play 24/7."

"You'll have to help me with the money."

"Of course."

I hand my money over to her and we fall silent. I notice the music for the first time since I've walked in. The song's changed, I think, but I can't see how it's any different.

I work up the courage to say, "I didn't know you lived around here."

"Moved recently," she keeps her eyes on the cash. "My old foster family moved to France. Rather than relocate locations, I just changed households."

In a show of wizarding ignorance, I force myself to ask, "What's a foster home?"

She looks up. "It's something like an adopted family, except the family doesn't actually adopt the kid. It's where they stick kids who don't have anyone else to take care of them."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she says, "I can take you at the register, if you'd like."

"Sure thing," I follow her towards the counter. "Wait, you work here?"

"Yep," she taps buttons on some Muggle device. It rings, and a drawer pops out of the base. "The Muggle age of adulthood is eighteen, and I'm only two years away. I need to get some cash if I'm gonna be independent."

"Muggle independence isn't quite independence," I mutter.

"Yeah, but it's the type I know best. Which makes it easy," she puts my new album into a paper bag and hands it to me. "I've got no fucking clue what I can do in the Wizarding world, while in this one? There are plenty of options."

"I still don't see that working out for you."

"Pureblood," she scoffs, "you can't see anything non-magical."

I'm about to head out the door, but thoughts of being home again are starting to permeate my mind. "You think we could hang out sometime, or something? My family's kind of a pain."

She gives me a long look, before replying, "I'm here every day except Sunday, one to eight. I don't have much to do – and what I do have to do isn't anything I'd particularly care to keep you out of. Stop by any time around closing."

"Thanks," a grin spreads across my face, "I don't know bloody anyone around here."

"Don't you go to James', or something?"

"Not for another week or two."

"That's not too bad."

"Trust me. In my house, it's time enough to put someone in their grave."

"I'll take your word for it," she chews her lip a second, before saying, "I don't suppose you have a record player, do you?"

"Can't say I do."

"Right," she glance around the shop. "Come this way then. We'll find you the cheapest goddamned record player in the city."


	7. Chapter 7

No one greets me when I reenter the house. I close the door quietly and sneak to my room – this new record player will work best coupled with the element of surprise. I've nearly made it to my room when, alas, I'm caught red handed.

"Yelling back only makes it worse, you know."

Regulus, apparently having heard my reentrance, has popped his head out his door. I turn, shrugging my new merchandise to my chest, and reply, "I don't think bottling it in will make anything better, though."

"For Christ's sake, Sirius, you're just a year short of seventeen," he steps forwards. The door creaks loudly while falling into the room. "Would it kill you to just roll over for another couple months?"

"I'm not like you Regulus. Sometimes I wish I were – beliefs and all," my tone harshens, and Regulus shifts uncomfortably back. "but, all things considered, I like having my own opinions and stuff."

"You think I don't have those, too?"

"I'm sure you do. I think you keep those to yourself, though, so no one has anything to hang over your head."

"And what if my own opinions are worse than Mum and Dad's?"

"They very well could be. But," I shrug, "I've known you all your life. You may be a dick, but there's a part of you that's a decent person, too. However small it may be."

He laughs dryly. "And you've been an idiot since I can remember."

"Have not," I sniff.

"Have too," he retorts in a childlike, mocking tone.

I can't think of a response better than sticking out my tongue, and apparently Regulus can't think up a comeback more immature than that. We fall silent, for a second. Then I say, more quietly, "We haven't talked like this in ages, you know."

"Not since you were sorted into Gryffindor."

"Precisely," I snap my fingers, grinning. That we may never speak like this again hangs ominously, a fact we're both thinking but dare not utter.

"I don't think Mum will actually send you to Durmstrang," he maintains careful eye contact while speaking, "keep your head down. Get to James' as soon as you can. I doubt she wants to explain your sudden disappearance to her Pureblood friends."

"She loves her gossip, but can't stand being the center of it," I mutter.

"She may be a hypocrite, but she's not all bad."

"Yeah, well you're nearly a Death Eater yourself."

His jaw clamps shut, and my heart drops as I realize, unconsciously, I've crossed a line. He barely moves his face when he says, "I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened, and I sure as hell don't want to know what's in that bag. I suggest you take my advice. But I doubt that'll ever happen."

"Regulus – "

"Goodnight, Sirius," his face softens for a second before he steps back in his room. The door creak is shorter and sharp when he slams it shut.

* * *

I'm too tired to set up the record player that night, but I get right to it the next day. The instruction manual proves entirely useless, and even after I've managed to assemble the thing I can't figure out how to make it play. Finally, I find the outlet the manual's talking about – and, I must say, I'm baffled as to how it got into our house– and after plugging it in it doesn't take me much longer to get the record playing. I turn the volume up, but no one comes storming up the steps. I guess my mum figures if she ignores my antics, they'll go away.

Unfortunately for her, the music's actually kind of decent. Nora's circled tracks on the back of the record for me, which I assume to be her favorites; I listen through all the songs, and excluding a track or two her recommendations are spot on. The album ends, and I flip it to start again. By the second time it's finished it's no longer interesting enough to capture my singular attention, but I restart the album for background noise while I do other things.

Eventually, I decide to buy another record. I can't keep listening to the same thing over and over again, after all and, as a bonus, the day's nearly over. I may be able to catch Nora at the end of her shift – which'd buy me a few hours out of the house.

I don't announce my departure while leaving. No one asks where I'm going, or chases me out the door, so I figure I'm allowed to go out. Finding my way back to the music store is tough, but it's not like I'm running on a schedule. The city grows darker and darker while I amble around. When I reach the store only the last remnants of sunlight linger; streetlamps are starting to flick on, and the work crowd is thinning.

The bell jingles again when I walk in. The store's void of people at this hour, save Nora and another worker.

"Back already?" she says, smirking. She looks somewhat surprised to see me, but not as shocked as I'd thought she'd be.

"I had nothing better to do," I excuse myself with a grin. "It's boring as hell at my house."

"Poor baby," she mock pouts.

"I'll introduce you to my mum if you'd like. I'm sure she'd have a thing or two to say about you."

"I'll pass, thanks," she grimaces. "So, you here to shop or just for the company?"

"A bit of both," I amble back to the records section I previously browsed. "The Led Zeppelin shit definitely served its purpose."

"Which was?"

"Annoying my parents."

"Ah. We know our shit, us Muggles."

I cast a nervous glance at her coworker.

She follows my gaze and laughs. "What? You think he's gonna tell on us?"

"You never know…"

"Not if you've never been a Muggle, you don't," she shakes her head, "as for the rest of us is you must know, the wizard jargon's completely rubbish."

"I'll trust your judgment on this on, seeing as it hasn't failed me yet. Which leads me to a transition point – I actually kind of liked the music."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Kind of?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Alright, it was great. You got any other recommendations?"

"Well if you liked Zeppelin, I guess I can trust you with some Hendrix."

She rummages through the racks, though searching takes less time than it did yesterday. The record seemingly attracts her hand; her fingers skim maybe three other albums before darting towards this one. She holds it towards me, almost religiously.

I take it from her and look it over. "Has anyone ever spelled Jimi like that?"

"I mean, apparently Jimi Hendrix did. He also overdosed on drugs, though, so I wouldn't trust everything he's come up with. But his music's phenomenal."

"Overdosed?" I glance up, baffled.

Her eyes go hugely round. "Oh Christ. You really are clueless, aren't you?"

"What?"

Rather than answer my question, Nora takes my record to the register. While she's ringing me up, I ask, "So, you want to hang out after this?"

"Actually, I've already got plans."

"Ouch," I wince. "Whatever then."

She looks up at me, laughing once more, "I'm kidding. Didn't I say if I had plans, anyways, you could tag along?"

"No, no, I don't want to intrude," I pretend to be hurt, waving my hands, "I'll make sure to schedule an appointment next time."

"For Christ's sake, Sirius, I'm just hanging out with my foster siblings. Just give me another ten minutes, I've got to close up the shop."

I wait around, hanging off the counter top, while Nora and her coworker bustle about the shop. The lights go off, and she ushers me out the back door. She locks it shut and tosses the keys to the other guy before turning back to me.

"So, tell me, how many Muggles have you met before?"


	8. Chapter 8

**I'll go ahead and apologize for the super-late upload. I have no excuse. I'm just underachieving. It is a little longer though. Thanks for reading anyways!**

Nora and I are walking in the opposite direction of my house – not that I mind, really. We've passed through the commercial street we were previously on, and are currently in a rather shady area of neighborhoods. The houses are tall and skinny, packed tightly together. The streetlamps are all on and the front windows are barred. Somewhere all too close for my liking, a car alarm shrieks.

"You've got your wand on you, don't you?"

"'I'm a Half-Blood. Not and idiot," Nora glares at me, "honestly, you think I'm dumb enough to run around unarmed?"

"I wouldn't consider it completely out of the cards," I mutter.

"Keep talking, Black. I'll leave you to fend for yourself."

"The horror," I mock groan, "what I'd do, without you to protect me – I can't even dream."

Her lips quirk into a dry smile. "Yeah, undoubtedly you'd be fine. You might have to go home though."

"Sheesh, enough with the threats. I'll shut my mouth."

She laughs out loud now, though not quite fully in the shadow of the city streets.

"Oh, you can't do that Sirius. Then I'd be talking to myself – and I can barely manage a conversation even with you here."

"Is that some strange variation of a compliment?"

"No," she shakes her head, smirking.

"I think it is," I leer closer to her.

"I take it back. Shut your goddamned mouth."

I make a show of pressing my lips together, widening my eyes.

"Yeah, that's about perfect," she points just ahead of us, "that's the place."

I'm not sure how she managed to pick it out, because it looks identical to every other house down this street. Maybe she knows the house number or something.

"Who am I going to visit, anyways?" I ask while we're walking up the steps.

"I told you, my foster siblings." She knocks on a brass knocker three times, before leaning over and jamming on the doorbell about twice that much.

I peer nervously into the windows. "Yeah, you said that, but exactly who are they – for Christ's sake, that's absolutely obnoxious."

Nora doesn't get the chance to ring the doorbell a time more, though, because the door itself swings open.

"Jesus Christ Nora, have you matured since grade school?"

A girl's opened the door, one who's probably a year or so older than Nora and myself. Her face screams artificiality – she's got piercings through her nose, eyebrow, and every inch of her ears, more eye makeup than eye itself, and hair bleached whiter than my sheets. If she took all the makeup off she might be very pretty. But it's hard to tell through all the stuff – as it is, the effect is a little overwhelming.

"Not an ounce," Nora smirks up, wearing nearly the same genuine grin she'd worn at the park. "You gonna let us in or what?"

"You in, sure, but I've got no clue who the hell this bloke is," she glares pointedly over Nora's shoulder.

"I'm Sirius," I grin and wave back in an attempt to maintain cheerful, Muggle protocol.

"He's fuckin' chapper, isn't he?" she mutters.

"Usually he's a prat," Nora shoots a glance back at me, grinning devilishly, "he's just trying to impress you, 'cuz he's out of his comfort zone."

"Well that I understand well enough," the girl steps forward and sticks out her hand, "I'm Cindy."

I take her hand and shake it. For such an intimidating face, she's got remarkably soft hand. I push back a wince when her fingers clamp down – more true to appearance, she's got a fucking strong grip.

"Come on in, then," after releasing my hand she reenters the house. Nora follows after her and I tag along, shutting the door behind me.

"Hey, Nick! We've got company!" Cindy yells while leading down the hall. The house is larger than the exterior would lead one to believe. We walk through a small hall before entering a fairly sized kitchen-living room area. A large eyed, skinny kid's lounging on the couch. From the state of his rather lean muscles and his sandy, disheveled hair, I'd guess he's our age or younger. And, in all likelihood, he's Nick.

"Tell me it's a pizza!" he yells back, though we're now in the same room as him. He's watching a moving picture on what I believe is a television. Whatever it is it must be fascinating - he doesn't dare look away from it.

"Even better!"

At this, he looks up. There's a hint of excitement in his eyes, and when his eyes meet Nora's his smile widens.

"You said better," he whines, despite his grin.

"You want a pizza, you order one," Nora folds her arms.

Feeling bold, I say, "I could go for some pepperoni, myself."

"Alright, I'll do it. Anything besides pepperoni?" he gets up, shooting off for his kitchen. He asks, "And who the hell are you, mate?" while he flies right by.

"Sirius," I reply. "I'm one of Nora's friends from school."

"From that hoity-toity artsy place?" he speaks with his back to us while rummaging through already-cluttered counters. "Tell me, what's it like there? Nora won't say two words about it."

I look to Nora for help – how does one explain Hogwarts to non-parental Muggles, anyways? To my relief, she speaks for me.

"For Christ's sake, it's summer Nick. You really want to talk about school?"

"But you never say anything about it," he groans. He's ceased tearing around, and clenches a piece of paper in his fist. "It's curiosity only, Nora."

"If you're so curious, maybe you should've stayed in school," she looks up a second after she speaks, biting her lip to half-hide a smirk. She makes herself at home, plopping into Nick's seat on the couch. I follow her actions and slide into a nearby armchair.

He stops suddenly while marching across the kitchen. Though he scowls at Nora, I realize he's also reached some kind of Muggle device. While fiddling with it, he says, "Shut the hell up why don't you. No, not you-" he jumps nearly through the ceiling. Pressing the device more firmly between his shoulder and ear, he says, "I'd like to place a delivery please. Large pepperoni pizza."

A sudden, light pressure draws my attention. Nora's hand's on my knee, and she's leaned close.

"As far as they know, I go to Benjamin Academy for the Arts," she whispers, "I'm on a scholarship. For visual shit. Life is absolutely mundane."

"Mhm," I respond feebly. For some godforsaken reason, I can't tear my eyes from a spot of freckles on her nose. This close up, they look kind of like a crescent moon.

"Sharing secrets, are we?" Cindy slips into seat beside Nora. "Is life so different for you gifted kids you can't share with us regular folk?"

"'Course it is," I laugh. The irony of her words absolutely kills.

"Pizza will be here in half an hour!" Nick yells from the kitchen. Neither girl pays much attention to him.

"God, I'd kill to attend some high-caliber arts school," Cindy casts her head back, groaning dramatically.

Smiling slightly, Nora says, "You ought to audition somewhere. You're half decent – you may get in."

"Getting in would be no problem. But there's no way I could pay tuition, and I'm not good enough to get a scholarship," she sighs, melancholy pervading her breath, "I guess success is only for the already successful."

"Mum and Dad could take in a couple more foster kids."

"And then kill them?" Nora asks.

"Precisely," Nick winks at her. He takes a seat in the only remaining chair, right across from mine. "In all reality though – what's this kid's deal? He your boyfriend or something?"

"Oh, hell no."

"No way."

Nora and I look at each other, both grinning.

"Didn't know you found me so repulsive," I mock whine.

"I could say the same."

"It's a good thing I found this out before I asked you to the Yule ball," I say mistily, pretending to squint into the distance. "That could've proved disastrous."

"Shut the hell up, why don't you," she rolls her eyes.

"You all get along pretty well," Cindy interrupts. Nora rolls her eyes, but she smirks nonetheless. "Honestly, I'm surprised Nora hasn't mentioned you before."

"Yeah," shrugging, Nick says, "the way she talked, we'd just assumed Nora didn't have friends whatsoever."

"Hey!"

Nick throws his hands in front of his face, bracing himself for the impact of the cushion Nora's just pulled out. But before she can throw it the doorbell rings.

"That'll be the pizza!" he darts out of his chair and into the kitchen before anyone can say a word.

I cast a sly glance at Nora, hoping she'll inform me as to what the hell's going on. I hear the door open, then a brief shuffle of interaction. The door shuts, and Nick is back with a large box in his hand.

"Swear to God, they take forever even though they live just down the street."

"That's why they're cheap," Cindy mutters while standing. The room begins to smell heavenly, and when Nick opens the box up the savory scent is for a moment overpowering.

"Hey!" Cindy's reached towards the box, but Nick swats her hand away. "No money, no pizza."

"That's not fair. You'll let Nora have a piece, undoubtedly."

"And her friend too. They're guests," his concentration is more focused on the pizza box. He seems to struggle inside for a second, before pulling out a slice. He catches strings of cheese in his mouth before taking a bite.

"I'm a guest, too," Cindy grumbles.

"You're my sister. You are never a guest, regardless of whether or not you live in my house."

"Yeah, Cindy," Nora gets up.

I stand to take a slice of pizza too, before what he says really strikes me as odd.

"Hold up," I say, "this is your house?"

"'Course it is," he says through a mouthful of food.

"So," I squint between him and Cindy, "which one of you is older?"

At this, Cindy breaks into a laugh. Nick, in contrast, looks somewhat mopey.

"I'm the little sister," Cindy says. She's got hand on her mouth to hide her grin.

"Wears enough makeup you wouldn't be able to tell," Nick grumbles.

"Oh, fuck off, Nick, you look like you're thirteen."

"I do not!"

"So how old are you all then?" I interrupt.

Looking reluctant, Nick says, "I'm twenty."

"And I'm fourteen," Cindy adds.

"What?" I exclaim.

Nora's smirking to herself and, after neatly finishing a final bite of pizza, says, "I thought the same exact thing first time I met them."

"So you're living on your own, then?" I look at Nick while grabbing my own slice of pizza. To my disappointment it's lukewarm, and the grease gets all over my fingers. I take a bite and nevertheless, I find it to be pretty damn tasty.

"Sure am."

"What do you do for a living, then?"'

He cracks a small, slightly abashed smile at this. Cindy's grinning ear to ear once more, and Nora herself looks smug.

"Yeah, Nick, why don't you tell him what you do for a living?" Nora goads him.

"It's nothing much really," he shrugs uncomfortably.

"That's a bit euphemistic," Cindy says, laughing.

Nick stands by the counter, stiff as a board and absolutely seething.

"C'mon, Nick. We're all waiting."

He stews for a moment more, before finally admitting, "I'm a drug dealer."

Nora and Cindy both roar with laughter while I stand, bewildered. The pizza crust nearly slips out of my hand.

"Sorry, what?" I say.

"I only deal pot," he says defensively, entirely ignoring my question.

"And psychedelics," Cindy retorts.

"Just a few shrooms though!"

"Wait," I interrupt, "you mean to say you're-"

For some reason, my brain can't come up with a label besides "Muggle criminal".

"He's an idiot, is what he is," Cindy finishes for me.

"It's just a temporary thing," Nick turns to me now, though I feel like he's talking mostly to himself. "It's just to pay rent until I can get a real job."

"You want a real job, you shouldn't have dropped out of school," Cindy mumbles.

"Fuck off, why don't you!"

She waves her hands, "Just saying. Sheesh."

"So what do you do, then?" I ask. I'm genuinely curious – it's doubtful I'll ever run into another Muggle criminal, after all.

"What do I do – dear god kid, have you never bought drugs?"

I shake my head. Cindy and Nick exchange an incredulous look.

"You mean to say – how old are you then?"

"Sixteen."

"You're sixteen years old," he continues, emphasizing his speech with sharp hand gestures, "and you've never bought drugs?"

"Never used them, either."

"No way," Cindy exhales, as if the idea's completely mind-boggling.

"You know most normal, well-adjusted teenagers have no need to do drugs, right?" Nora says.

"Well no one's really got a need to do them, have they?" Nick shrugs, "They're just a damn good time."

"This does beg the question though," Nora eyes me carefully, "have you ever been drunk, even?"

"Nope," I say. I mean, I've drank firewhiskey a time or two. But I've never been smashed – I've seen a drunk person or two in my time, and I can't claim I've ever come close.

"That's it," I jump when Nora smacks her hand on the counter, "I'm getting Sirius Black drunk."

"Wait a second," I say, "You can't just get me drunk. That's an agreement I've actually got to, you know, agree to."

"Are you gonna argue?" she raises an eyebrow.

I hesitate, before grumbling, "No."

"Nick," she spins in the stool, "how soon can you get me alcohol?"

"By tomorrow, if you'd like."

"Hell yeah I'd like," she turns again to me. "Sirius Black, you'll show up at the record store at eight 'o clock sharp, won't you?"

Anticipation's starting to build in my gut. I grin widely.

"Hell yeah I will."

"Then it's settled," she stands. The wood groans against the tile when Nora pushes the stool back under the counter. "Tomorrow night, Sirius Black and I will be getting intoxicated. And, while I thank the both of you for your hospitality, it's nearly eleven."

I cast a glance at the clock. Where the time went, I couldn't say.

"Your mom keeps a strict curfew, and I'd appreciate not having a meeting with my social worker."

I feel a light pressure on my head, and wince slightly.

"And you've got to get this one home before bed time," Cindy ruffles my hair, and she doesn't do it lightly. I playfully swat her hand away.

"I'm older than you, you little shit," I say.

"Yeah, yeah. You still haven't done drugs," she shakes her head, like that's something I should be ashamed of.

"You're too young for this shit anyways, Cindy," Nora articulates my own thoughts.

"Don't be such a prude!"

"Whatever!" we've edged away from Nick and Cindy, and towards the door, but Nora doesn't raise her voice to yell. She doesn't say goodbye, either, before sliding out the door. A little disinhibited, I do shout a "bye" behind me before following her back into the outside world.


End file.
